Chapter Twenty-Three
Beckett
Watching Scarlett steal the catering tray feels exhilarating.
She is turning out to be a very good spy.
But I don't want her around Carl long enough for him to figure out who she is. It was genius to pretend to be one of the catering staff, but what is more brilliant is the fact that she’d collected everyone’s fingerprints.
This will allow me to find out who Carl is doing business with.
Back in our suite, we set the tray down and I text Griffin who is downstairs.
“What do you want me to do now?” Scarlett asks, looking a bit jittery.
“Change out of that horrible outfit and put on something comfortable. You’re not going back downstairs. I’ll have something delivered for us.” I give her a loving look because I know that she is on edge.
I have grown up with the Christopher Street Society and a cold, unfeeling father. She has a loving mother despite the circumstances of her existence, and my sister as her constants. She isn't used to being around ruthless people.
“I don’t get to do any more spying?” she teases. I love how she is comfortable enough to do so.
No one teases me. I am always serious and steadfast, and most of my conversations are short and succinct. She is youthful and beautiful and has an effervescence that I didn't realize I was missing in my life.
“No more spying, you got us what we needed.”
Griffin sends me a text; he is at the door.
“So are you going to tell me why you’ve stolen a catering tray that you need prints from?” he says as he bounds in and then acknowledges Scarlett.
“Mrs. Myers.” He nods to her, and she smiles at him.
“Griffin.”
“Go change, love. We’re going to be a minute.” I don’t want to have to explain to Griffin why I didn’t mind having my newly acquired wife listen in on secret society affairs.
“So, married life?” he asks as soon as we are alone.
“Is lovely.” I don’t lie.
“And so very unexpected. You're not the type to ever want to get married.
I've known you for a long time, Beck; something's up. I’ve been helping you with all of this, but you have to be honest with me.” Griffin plants himself in a chair near a picture window, sipping on the cocktail he has with him. “I need you to spill it.”
“What do you want me to spill exactly? That I knocked up somebody by accident? She may or may not have taken her birth control. I got married because I don't have bastards.” I make myself a drink and sit down across from him.
Griffin takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head.
“You can pay off a bastard’s mother. They don't have to come out of the woodwork.
Their mothers don't have to get married… to you.” I know Scarlett must be hearing this conversation, and it will break her heart.
“Was she just a fuck? Or do you love her?”
I have to let Griffin in if I want his help.
“Scarlett is a remarkable human being and Rayne is my beautiful daughter who I’m grateful for and treasure.
Scarlett is wanted and adored. She’s never been just a fuck, and yes I love her.
I want Scarlett off the table. She's sacred and so is my daughter. That is all I'm going to spill to you.”
I can’t let Scarlett get too involved in any of CSS’s business.
Wives in the society are accomplices. Wives have power and are equally as capable of murder and espionage as their husbands.
My own wife proved herself this evening.
CSS marriages are alliances; they are power plays for the ultimate reward.
My marriage to Scarlett was a love match and I want her protected from all that CSS could rob from her soul.
Lord knows they’d already sucked mine dry.
The last thing I want is to lose the sweetest and most vital parts of her or my daughter.
“That's a tall order keeping them out of the light. At some point, you're going to be asked to sacrifice.”
“I have money and the means to keep my wife protected.”
“And yet she was kidnapped…”
“Which is why I need you to find out whose prints are on these trays.”
“Tell me why and I can help you, Beck. You do this alone.”
“As you know, Carl is asking for Omexadal to be deconstructed and used to destroy immunity in an undetectable drug. I don’t know who else is involved in this but Concadia is being used in some way. That’s all I know at the moment.”
“Carl is part of our law firm. He is shady as fuck, but I never really thought of him as someone who covets world domination. I’ll get these prints and find out who he might be working with.
It’s best we get on this tonight and get the info before everyone leaves.
I can have my forensics guy bring his kit here. What does Scarlett know?”
“Scarlett knows all of it. She got the tray. I was hoping to take her home as my sister is watching the baby, but we’ll stay here. This is infinitely more important. Did you eat? I was going to have something sent up for my wife and me. You’re welcome to join us.”
“One big happy family,” he quips.
“Jealous?” I doubt he is; marriage comes with constrictions and he doesn’t like those.
“Your wife is pretty. I might be.” He flashes me a snide grin.
“Oh, she’s more than pretty.” I play along.
“Do I come out now and tell you I've heard every word you've said or later?” Scarlett steps out of the bedroom and smiles at us, wearing a pair of floppy sweats and a white tank top without a bra. I really want her to put her tits away.
“Now,” I say. “I’m about to order us something to eat. What would you like?” I try to go about business as usual.
“Salad. Any kind,” she says, taking a seat at the table with Griffin and me.
“And a steak. You need protein. Griffin?” I look at my friend.
“Salad and steak sounds fine,” he says, staring up at my wife in a way that makes me want to punch his face.
“Stop gawking, Griffin. I know how clumsy you are with women.” This makes Griffin scoff and Scarlett giggles a little.
“Ah, your husband, always the asshole,” he quips and we are back to our usual banter, despite the danger he is getting into with us.
“Tell me about it,” she says. That makes my hair bristle, but she is holding her own.
“One day,” Griffin flirts, and I hate him for it.
A little while later there is a knock at the door and I think for a second it is the forensics guy, but it is our food. We have a pleasant meal together. We finish most of the food on our plates except for Scarlett who isn't eating enough. I will have to train her to eat more substantially.
A knock comes at the door. “NYPD,” comes a voice from the hallway. My heart beats out of my chest and my blood freezes.
Griffin gets up and opens the door. “Come on in, Matthew. Can I get you something to drink?” I realize that this police officer is on his payroll. Griffin gives the man a tight smile and he returns it; they aren’t friends, but obviously have some kind of arrangement.
“Still on the clock,” he says.
“Pity,” is Griffin’s response.
Matthew dusts the catering tray for prints and is able to lift them and process them on an app on his smartphone. The whole thing takes about fifteen minutes.
“Marcus Yang, an operative from Beijing specializing in air pollution and pollutant migration.
Works for the CIA. Andre Yokovic, bioweapons tech.
He's an inventory specialist at Langley and speaks Russian, Ukrainian, English, and Spanish. Thomas Presley, chemist and professor of biochemistry and organic synthesis at NYU. Carl Bradsheir, lawyer at Bradsheir, Dawson, and Lohan, senior partner.” He ends the app and sends an encrypted email to Griffin.
“I need a copy of those names,” I tell Griffin without emotion but my heart is fluttering. Carl is working with some pretty intelligent folks all seemingly involved with the CIA.
The Christopher Street Society has often been known to associate with politicians and wealthy elites.
We are entangled in the government at every level, but this speaks to something more deeply involved.
Perhaps they are partnering together, vying for a contract and working all angles of a possible pitch.
If they haven't already secured a contract with the US government they might be trying to sell the drug and with it, they'd have ultimate power.
“Thank you,” I say to Matthew and Griffin. “If we’re done here, it’s been a long night. I’d like to retire with my wife.” I essentially dismiss the gentlemen and our suite is empty within minutes.